Four Seasons
by lookingforme
Summary: Four short stories featuring the couples in the trilogy: Aragorn and Arwen, Eowyn and Faramir, Sam and Rosie, and Celeborn and Galadriel. Reviews are appreciated!


**Author's Note: This little idea popped into my head while I was puttering around the house, doing nothing after semester exams. I'm planning to have four chapters, one for each couple (Arwen/Aragorn, Eowyn/Faramir, Sam/Rosie, Galadriel/Celeborn), and one for each season. Reviews are always greeted with love, so please don't be shy! Enjoy!**

**Oh, and please bear with me—what with the musical, school, and the literary magazine, I am swamped, so it may take a while to update!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of these characters; everything belongs to J.R.R Tolkien.**

"I would be happy never to leave this place. Would not you?"

Arwen gave a low hum in reply, her eyes still closed, hands folded over her stomach. She could almost see the blue sky through her eyelids; she relished the warm sunlight on her bare arms. She had passed many seasons in Lothlorien, but each summer seemed fairer and more fleeting than the last.

"Indeed, no country is fairer," Aragorn continued, his voice rumbling in Arwen's ear. "Merriment runs in the Rivers, and wisdom in the mallorn trees."

Arwen hummed again, turning over onto her side, and inhaled the sweet, musky scent of crushed mallorn leaves.

"Of course, any country without midges is fair in my mind."

Arwen opened her eyes in shock and laughed, sitting up and slapping Aragorn's arm. "That is poetry indeed!" she cried. "And false praise, I may add—even Lothlorien has fleas, Aragorn."

He laughed, and Arwen again marveled at the change merriment wrought upon his face—the lines that usually rendered him wise and stern softened and allowed his true age to be discerned. She often forgot how very young he was.

"If it were false praise—which it is not—it would be the highest praise of all," he said. "Aside from the secrecy I am sworn to and the distrust I feel from others, midges make a Ranger's job very trying indeed."

"I can well imagine," Arwen said quietly, entwining her fingers in his. She fell silent, thinking of the cold and the solitude of his life. It did not seem just—she again thought of his youth. Duty and calling already defined him—this was the first time she had ever heard him speak of unhappiness or hardship as a Ranger.

"I have never felt such peace before," Aragorn said slowly, sitting up beside Arwen. "In all of Middle-Earth, there is bickering and quarreling, even during times of peace. But not here." He turned, and gave Arwen a sad smile. "I will be sorry to leave this place."

She gave his hand a squeeze. It was the best she could do at reassuring him; she knew he was not destined to find peace, not yet. Indeed, his own heart was not ready for it—she knew that despite his claim that he would be content to wonder the Forests forever, he would never truly be satisfied if he was not protecting his people. He was not even King yet, and already the love he felt for his fellow men reigned over his heart.

By all means, this should have been a cause of grief for her. More than her father's assertions that Aragorn should never marry until he had fulfilled his duty, she sensed that his iron-clad sense of purpose would lead to much waiting on her part. But she was willing. She had duties to her people as well—the only force that kept her in Lorien was her love for her father. "I want you to be safe," her father had told her, when she had argued that her place was in Imladris, at his side.

She felt Aragorn's fingers tangle in her hair. "I said I envied Lorien of its peace," he said. "But it is not peace that I read in your silence, Arwen. What is wrong?"

She turned to face him. "Grave thoughts often lead to restlessness," she said. "Will you walk with me?"

He proffered his arm to her as they began to walk towards the glade. They had found it together a few days before, a field full of golden _elanor _and white _nephradil_. Arwen fingered her ring as they walked together. It was here that they had pledged their troth.

Aragorn noticed the gesture. "Are you worried?" he asked her. "Do you fear what Lord Elrond will say? Arwen, it is not like you to be so silent."

She sighed. She did not want to give him pain, not when he was leaving so soon. "I love him dearly," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I bore witness to his terrible grief after my mother died, and I swore that I would never pain him. I do not fear what he will say—but I do not rejoice to tell him the news."

She saw that her attempt to assuage Aragorn's concerns had gone astray—his brow furrowed, and he let go of her arm. "Aragorn," she said, halting. He continued walking, then leant against a tree. He blended with the grey trunk in his elven clothes, while the sun glinted on his few grey hairs.

She stood in front of him, and lifted his downcast face. "Aragorn, I will not lie, not to you. My father has always done his utmost to protect me, and he will be hard-pressed to accept my choice. But beloved, this is my choice, and no one else can make it for me. And I will bind myself to you."

Aragorn's brow smoothed slightly at these words. "It does not seem just," he murmured, caressing her cheek. "Why should we have to choose? Why should you have to wait because of my weakness and folly?"

She took his arm this time, and led him onwards. "Everyone has to choose their course," Arwen murmured. "Including you."

Aragorn bit his lip. "Now you seem troubled," Arwen said with a smile, after silence had reigned for a while.

"I do not always know my course," Aragorn admitted reluctantly. "How can I be sure? How can I really know that this destiny is mine? And how can I possibly ask you to wait for an event so uncertain?"

They had come to the fields, but only Arwen had realized it. "Come with me," she said, leading him into the sea of flowers.

They sat again, but were now silent. Arwen's heart clenched at the look on Aragorn's face. All her life, she had been surrounded by lordly and powerful men—power that they had wielded well, but power that they had been born to. Aragorn's plight was different—a king who had to make his way as a man of the wilderness, a king who would have to struggle long and hard to reclaim his throne. She could not help but feel for him.

She suddenly kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Aragorn made a noise of surprise, but drew her to him, his arms around her waist.

She laughed as he regarded her with surprise. "I am sorry, love," she whispered. "You would not have been troubled had it not been for my musings."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Aragorn said, putting a finger to her lips. "In truth, these thoughts have been distressing me for a while now—"

"A Shadow hangs over us all, but you will face it, and you will defeat it," Arwen said firmly, holding Aragorn's grey eyes with her own. "I have faith in you."

"I wish I could have the same faith in myself," Aragorn sighed. He kissed Arwen's forehead. "But your hope will have to be mine as well."

He lay down, and she laid her head on his chest. The grass tickled her cheek, but she stayed where she was. "When must you leave?" she asked, forcing the question out.

"Soon. The leaves of the trees already start to turn gold."

"And then this summer will be no more than a memory," Arwen whispered. She realized how very long it would be until they saw each other again, and she moved closer to him at the thought of it.

Aragorn smiled as he stroked her hair. "We shall have to live on memory, you and I," he said, sighing. "But I shall be content, as long as the Evenstar has faith in me."

"And I shall be content," Arwen replied, "if the King of Gondor will wait for me." She kissed him again, smiling at the thought of yet another happy afternoon.


End file.
